Kakistocracy, page 7
I took another sip of the outrageously expensive scotch the CEO of Abaddon Inc. had poured for me. We had loads to talk about, but events and revelations had been coming at me so rapidly that I needed a quiet moment of reflection, and Chulsky seemed to intuitively understand this.
Moira was off somewhere on the second floor, collecting the balance of her fee from accounting. I had gone straight up to Chulsky. Spacious as his office was, it seemed far smaller than the spaces that occupied the floors below it, and it had no obvious egresses other than the elevator. This place had to have been designed by the spiritual ancestor of M.C. Escher.
I had been furious with Chulsky for sending me off in the manner he did without a warning, but in my heart of hearts, I knew I would’ve done the same in his shoes. As would Mose, or John, or Herc—anyone burdened with the responsibility of making unpleasant decisions in service of a greater good. So, instead of accusations and recriminations, I merely recounted the events of what—for me—had been the past few hours.
“Do not underestimate the gravity of what the armband you wear represents,” Chulsky told me when I was finished. “You’ve been marked for death by beings who are as dangerous as they are capricious. I’m going to have some of my best people look into ways to break the curse, but I must caution you that, as of yet, I’m not aware of any means to circumvent it.”
I took another sip. “So, what then? At some point I’m going to need a shower, and I feel as though I’ve passed that point hours ago.”
“You must shower, sleep, even fornicate with the armband on,” said Chulsky. “You can remove it for a few moments so that you may readjust or tighten it around your upper arm, but if the material is cut or if it remains separated from your arm for much longer than a ten-heartbeat span, its magic will call forth the avenging sidhe.” Chulsky frowned into his scotch glass. “The material is more resilient than it looks, but given the lifestyle you lead, I’m concerned that you may damage or lose it by accident. In fact, I believe Kallan may be counting on this.”
“I shall add this to my rapidly expanding list of problems,” I said.
“I promise, resolving this will be a priority for my research team,” said Chulsky.
“Speaking of promises.” I downed the rest of the scotch and placed the empty glass next to the decanter. “You swore you’d tell me what it was Abaddon, Inc. did, for real. And as much as I need that shower, I want my payment in information as badly as Moira wants her payment in gold, or bitcoin, or whatever it is you use to pay people like her.”
“Of course.” Chulsky also set down his glass. “Simply put, Abaddon was created to mediate conflicts between Heaven and Hell.”
I gaped at Chulsky. “Literal Heaven and Hell?”
Cosmology is a tricky thing in a world where gods walk among mortals. Sure, demons existed, but it was a word one used for horrific and powerful monsters. To the best of my knowledge, they weren’t tied to any particular belief system. As for angels, the only kind I knew appeared in the Victoria’s Secret catalog.
“It’s complicated,” said Chulsky. “We actually prefer the terms On High and Down Below but the idea is the same. You’ve got forces that are generally considered to represent light, and those who stand for darkness. There are celestials that are far more powerful than those who ascend from middlings. Those celestials create beings of immense power, who in turn serve their interests and follow their philosophies. The lowest forms of such beings manifest on our plane of existence. Angels and demons are a simplistic vernacular, but it gets to the crux of the situation.”
“Let’s say for the moment that I get it. And, believe me, saying so is a considerable stretch. How does one mediate between beings that are the polar opposites of each other? I thought their idea of conflict resolution was for the two teams to eventually meet at the base of Mount Megiddo and duke it out until one side or the other wins the coveted Armageddon Cup?”
Chulsky’s lip curled up into an almost-smile. “Eventually is the key word here. Earth was originally created as the predestined battleground for this conflict. That had been the plan. But, over time, the archangels and the fallen lords have both come to feel that this place, and the species that populate it, is actually rather nice. It’s got rainbows and volcanoes and such. Even snowflakes.” Chulsky gestured toward the window. “You know how no two snowflakes are exactly alike? Humans are like that, too. Humans are frequently useful to both sides, and constantly fascinating. So, they keep delaying Judgment Day, and it is my learned opinion that they will continue to delay it indefinitely.”
“That is … unexpectedly sweet, actually,” I said.
Chulsky nodded. “Quite so. Having said that, you must understand that each side contains incalculable groups and factions. The nature of each group is as pugnacious and parochial as it has been since the beginning of time. Thus, someone had to ensure the lower-level entities in either camp wouldn’t escalate their grievances into an all-out war and initiate the Armageddon no major player truly wants.”
I rubbed at my temples. “In other words, you get to be the adult in the room and ensure the children don’t break their toys or set the playground on fire?”
“Yes, there was a desperate need for such an arbiter, one respectful of both sides yet beholden to neither. Ultimately, the archangels and the fallen lords created me, and they imbued me with the necessary wisdom and power to maintain a careful balance between their rank and file.”
I held up my hand. “Excuse me, do you mean to say they created Abaddon?”
Chulsky’s lips stretched into a pretty fair approximation of the Mona Lisa. “That, too.”
“You’re telling me I’ve been drinking scotch with a being jointly created by Heaven and Hell thousands of years ago in order to play referee in their reindeer games?”
Chulsky shrugged. “You’re a biological machine made of meat and stuffed with free will that operates on fuel made of calories, who has managed to ascend to a higher state of existence and voluntarily went back to meat form. Is that any less peculiar?”
“Touché, referee,” I said.
“I’m more a barrister than a referee,” said Chulsky. “I have no power over the factions. Rather, I mediate between them relying mostly on the fact that neither side wants for things to get out of hand, regardless of their posturing.”
“I think the term you’re looking for is ‘marriage counselor.’ But then, how do the fae fit into this? Last I checked, those tall brutes wear neither crosses nor pentagrams.”
“Over time, my mandate has been gradually expanded. Since the goal is to prevent the destruction of this planet, which my joint creators so enjoy, it seemed only reasonable that I would try to forestall any possible apocalypses, regardless of whether the root cause happened to be the demons, the fae, or the upstart humans thinking it might be a good idea to split the atom.” Chulsky pointed to the window again, each pane teeming with life. “All this is a long way from a few thousand uplifted monkeys hunting mammoth and painting graffiti on cave walls. The apocalypses are increasing in frequency. It’s frankly become a handful. I need qualified, resourceful, fearless people to help thwart the disasters to come.” Chulsky leveled an earnest gaze at me. “People like you, Conrad.”
All that sounded flattering, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of being the poor schmuck on the precipice of a hero’s journey. Like Chulsky was about to hand me a cursed ring, or a magic sword, or some other pain-in-the-ass token that would send me tumbling down the rabbit hole of a dangerous epic quest at great personal inconvenience and discomfort. A fate I’d very much like to avoid, and to also unsubscribe from all future offers, please and thank you.
“Let me get this straight,” I said. “You need the guy who’s been helping you out for nearly a year now, even without knowing those pesky little details? That seems like an overly dramatic pitch given our already amicable working relationship, doesn’t it?”
“I’d like for you to come work at Abaddon full time. Leave your position at the Watch. Quit chasing after the petty criminals in your borough and focus on the big-picture problems instead.”
I looked at the panorama of New York City spread out before me. It was out there, in the streets, where I felt the most myself. Tracking down rogue sorcerers and shape-shifting monsters, rather than negotiating with fae royals or placating angels.
“I’m no diplomat,” I said. “My place—”
Chulsky held up his hand. “Do not give me an answer now. What I ask is that you absorb the information I’ve given you and consider it. Protecting the people of this city, of your borough, is a noble endeavor. But you can’t make the sort of difference in a lifetime of service at the Watch that you could in a year of working here.” Chulsky straightened his tie and tilted his head slightly as he gauged my reaction. “As to diplomacy, you say you’re not sufficiently subtle, and you’re right.”
Not quite what I’d said, but sure, I could live with that assessment.
He went on, “Different situations require different approaches, varying degrees of finesse. My job is to assign the right agent to each task. In fact, would you consent to handling the sort of assignment I had in mind for you next, as a freelancer again?”
I frowned. This was the time to batten down the hatches and refuse the call to adventure. To return the messenger owl back to sender. To turn the geriatric pipe-smoking wizard away from my front door. But, I couldn’t help wanting to know. Curiosity would be the end of me. If I were a cat, even nine lives wouldn’t have been enough to make up for all the times I stuck my nose where it didn’t belong. So, true to my nature, I answered a question with several more questions.
“Another assignment already? Does this involve pursuing fae serial killers? Or throwing myself at the mercy of fae royals? Or anything whatsoever to do with the damn fae? Because if so, then there’s the matter of five months’ worth of accumulated weekends I’d like to use up.”
“I assure you, it does not,” said Chulsky. “This is much more along the lines of Abaddon’s primary focus and, in fact, will be of a special interest to you. A faction of On High and a faction of Down Below have both laid claim to the estate of a recently deceased human, and are highly intent on being the first and only group to collect it. Each faction appears quite willing to escalate if they don’t get their way. As both groups are located in your city, a direct conflict between them would turn the streets into their battleground. We very much want to prevent that.”
No big deal, just get in-between angels and demons, and make them play nice with each other. Delivering a cursed ring to a faraway volcano sounded like a way safer quest than that.
“I’m all for preventing carnage in the streets. But I take it that’s not what you meant when you mentioned the special interest part?” I asked.
“The estate in question is a house in South Brooklyn. The house is so well-warded that neither side has been able to break through. Yet.”
Chulsky had piqued my interest, and he knew it. A house located practically in my own backyard so well protected that neither angels nor demons could get inside? I definitely wanted to poke around and see those wards for myself.
“All right,” I said, shoving the feeling of impending doom deep into a far corner of my psyche. “I’ll consider taking that on. But I do have to check in at the Watch first. Say hi, let them know I’m alive, warn them about the evil lurking in City Hall, that sort of thing.”
“An evil?” Chulsky asked. “I take it you aren’t a fan of our new mayor and his clumsy attempts to interfere in the affairs of the gifted?”
“I’m not, but he’s also not who I meant. Are you familiar with his head of the Preternatural Affairs department? A man called Vaughn?”
“I’ve heard the name in relation to that newly formed organization, but nothing further. He appears to maintain a low profile,” said Chulsky.
“That’s his thing,” I said. “Vaughn used to be Marko Hanson’s right-hand man at Nascent Anodynes International.”
“Ahh. The biotech firm responsible for unleashing the middling plague last year,” said Chulsky.
“The very same. We defeated Hanson, but Vaughn managed to slink away, only to re-emerge within the Holcomb administration.”
Chulsky shrugged. “It appears he’s a bureaucrat who is good at sidling up to those in positions of power. So what?”
“I don’t think he’s merely some pencil pusher with a penchant for landing himself cushy gigs. Nascent Anodynes grew from obscure to powerful and wreaked havoc on New York City before we managed to stop Hanson. And now Holcomb’s administration and especially its OOPS goons are terrorizing the gifted community of this city, even if they’re going about it in a different way. Could it be a coincidence that Vaughn is at the center of both webs? I think not.”
Vaughn had also killed people in the process of escaping from the NAi compound. I supposed Chulsky would see this as a small problem, one for the Watch to deal with and beneath his notice. The thought didn’t sit well with me.
Chulsky took a slow sip of scotch as he mulled over my words. “The trait NAi and the new city leadership seem to share is kakistocracy,” he declared.
“The what now?”
“Kakistocracy is a system of government where the least capable and least competent individuals rise to the positions of power,” Chulsky explained. “It is as common a problem in human societies as it is counterintuitive, and those governments and organizations led by the gifted aren’t immune from it. Marko Hanson developed a powerful bioweapon against the gifted, and he deployed it in a foolish and crude manner that ultimately accelerated his downfall. Likewise, the Holcomb administration is attempting to control and manipulate the gifted in ways that are sweeping but also unsubtle and heavy-handed. It’s not worth the effort to focus on opposing such regimes. They will inevitably cause their own destruction through ruinous incompetence.”
“Except,” I countered, “these empires of stupidity will also cause endless grief and suffering to countless people on their slow march toward collapse. Isn’t it better to oppose them, to help accelerate the advent of their ruin, so as to spare people additional suffering?”
“It’s a noble thought, but who will replace the kakistocracy you topple?” asked Chulsky. “What makes you think that the next mayor or governor or CEO will be better? That the next batch of leaders won’t surround themselves with parasites like Vaughn, who have existed and thrived in all social structures since the dawn of civilization? This is where the Abaddon philosophy diverges from that of the Watch. Instead of slapping a Band-Aid on each of a thousand different wounds inflicted by small-minded villains, we stop the one villain who aims to chop off the head.”
I shook my head, frustrated at Chulsky’s aloofness and literal inhumanity.
“Those are not mere wounds. Those are human lives we’re saving at the Watch. They may seem really small from your perch up here at the top of the world, but they’re no less important to the people who live them.”
“In time you will come to understand the importance of the big picture,” said Chulsky.
In time. He was a being who had lived for millennia, who had been created for a purpose, who was perhaps more a complex magical artifact than a person. How could I expect him to think about time, about the value of individual lives in the same way as a human being? Did he expect me to be of like mind about such things, since I’d experienced a higher state of existence? Was that why Chulsky wanted me on his team so badly, because he saw a sort of kinship between us, both almost but not quite human? Both choosing to protect humanity, each on our own scale? Those questions deserved serious consideration, preferably in a comfortable armchair with a glass of something strong and well-aged. Definitely not while exhausted after having the crap beaten out of me in a fae version of a cage match.
“Get me the details of this case you want me to undertake,” I said. “I’ll consider it. And the rest of what you said.”
“That’s all I ask,” said Chulsky.
As fatigued and overwhelmed as I was, there was one more figurative beating I needed to endure before I could finally go home to lick my wounds.
I headed to the Watchtower.
The Watchtower is a misnomer, because the headquarters of the Watch are actually located deep in the bowels of the Manhattan Municipal Building. As if the layers of wards and protections conjured by powerful gifted over the course of a century weren’t enough, the existential despair of a skyscraper full of bureaucrats, and the petitioners they annoyed, cast a psychic pall of misery nigh-impenetrable by most magics.
My key card got me into the building, and the Watchtower protections allowed me safe passage downstairs. Either my compatriots had held out hope I was still alive, or they believed me dead and hadn’t thought it necessary to bother expunging my credentials.
Imagine all the secret organization bases as portrayed in the movies. Spacious and well lit, bustling with activity, lots of shiny bits of futuristic tech scattered about for effect.
The Watchtower was nothing like that.
A handful of folks slouched at their desks, typing on computers that were out of date, but not so out-of-date as to seem retro-cool. Heaps of printouts lay atop filing cabinets, marred with an occasional coffee stain. The drip coffee maker in the corner produced a vile brew that was hardly suitable for consumption. Like all Watchtower equipment, the coffee maker was tamper-proof and magic-resistant, thus thwarting any attempts to improve upon the dismal fruits of its labor through sorcery.
Those not powerful enough to conjure a perfect brew out of thin air were reduced to venturing outside in search of the nearest Starbucks.
I marched past the desks. Their denizens ignored me. They seemed more downtrodden than usual—perhaps the doom and gloom from the higher floors was getting to them. More of the desks were empty than usual. I headed for Mose’s old office, now occupied by John Smith.
